The Primal Scream of WEAPONS

a child behaving normally

*no overt spoilers, though allusions are made to major plot points and the ending of the film, though these might not be spoilers in the purest sense*

“What did we learn?” can be a double edged sword, and in that way, a often preferred *weapon* of the critic. While the declaration certainly hopes to provoke further education and study, or at the very least reflection, it can also often serve as, especially in cases of critical analysis, a compressing process, one that smashes a certain work into the confines of a singular theme, or dare I even utter the word, moral. While many a genre can suffer when placed in this context, the horror genre is typical fodder for these oversimplifications, and it is admittedly not much of a surprise. “What [can] we learn,” seems at times an honest response when faced with repeated mutilations of unwitting teenagers, sprees of grisly murders, or yet another exorcism, yet, likely thanks to its innate emotional triggers, the horror genre boasts many inherently cinematic tools in its arsenal, which is perhaps why in response to this critique the entire sub-genre of "elevated horror" has sprung forth claiming to infuse those genre thrills with higher minded themes.While many of these films are certainly quite good, and it could be something to consider that perhaps horror is one of the few genres artistically minded filmmakers can secure funding with in today’s landscape, the inherent conceit of elevation is that something was ever debased, or even simply lesser, in the first place. The question at the core of this line of reasoning seems to be suggesting that if we can’t learn something, even allowing for the occasional weightier deviation, does that make the horror picture truly nothing more than populist exploitation? 

Weapons takes this quandary and rather than engage with it in the way many horror filmmakers have, ignores it outright, and by so doing ends up finding a potentially new kind of horror, one that if lacking in overt messaging, excels in expression. From its first fairy tale evoking frames, utilizing narration to excellent effect, to its sketch comedy tinged plot beats and deviations, the film carefully simmers along and by the time all is revealed, and the last great pay-off is granted, the audience has experienced something certainly communal in the romantic way all defenders of theatrical exhibition salivate over, yet even beyond this musing, a sort of mutual release of negative energy. I’m sure if I tried I could find a number of things Weapons is saying, especially in regards to darkness lurking within American suburbs and the political ramifications of that conceit, however, that ignores that fact the very experience ends up as its own form of expression. The emotion itself becomes the message; a primal release. 

This success of the film begins in the writing. As a byproduct of Weapons’ insistence that its conclusion need not state an overt moral or wind together to a full theme, the story is able to elevate into the status of a kind of modern folklore. Fairy tales are of course known for their inherent moral warning and throughout human history have been utilized to keep children in check through fear. However, in tandem with those didactic yarns stand the stories which simply presented something of another world, often in contemporary setting, that held within itself something darker. There is a grand tradition of these kinds of tales as rich as their sermonizing counterparts and Weapons operates in this arena. The characters and citizens of Zach Cregger's world comprise a typical community, only one distraught in the fruitless search for these missing children and as we come to realize, one plagued by a kind of dark magic, a malignant supernatural presence, one which evokes the work of a myriad of influences. In an interview with Letterboxd, Cregger cited Raising Arizona as an influence for the film, and clearly both that film's zany energy as well as the darker films of the Coen brothers have weight here as well, yet for me the main influence I walked away considering was one Cregger did not mention in his interview. As I watched this community struggle, I recalled the predatory natures of the witches and giants and perhaps even chocolatiers in so many of Roald Dahl's classic children's novels. In each of these influences we have a presentation of our modern world(s), yet twisted and simple in that way unique to fairy tales. The political and social trappings that plague our society are present, yet they exist ancillarily, as textures on the world.

        In this sense, Weapons has little clear answers or weight relative to our modern world, and quite frankly not many questions either, yet as the film pulls from a well of its creativity, summoning dream sequences, character deviations, and ultimately even weaponizing, pardon the obvious pun, the very form of sketch comedy, the tension builds, though not in the steady rise of a typical horror picture. We are kept on the edge of our seat waiting to discover the causes for the disappearing children, yet because of the writing, when we are suddenly spending time with a heroin addict and a pathetic police officer, or with a couple and their hot dogs, the tension compounds as we long to see how these characters will tie into the overall structure. Thus, the film both fully defers the weight of a massive plot twist that has plagued the horror genre since Bruce Willis tried to open that door and declares itself to operate on its own terms. In contrast, by the time we reach the conclusion of last year's Longlegs, despite the most ardent hopes of the film, no one is surprised to learn that Nic Cage’s killer was indeed demonic. The movie is atmospherically crafted, but we are simply ahead of the writing, which makes the moments the writing takes the driver's seat, and attempts political/social/thematic musings, ring hollow. Weapons easily could have found itself in a similar spot, yet the writing is able to shirk this expectation altogether, while still being genuinely surprising and satisfying, allowing mystery to remain even as it hands out answers. This only works when the screenplay is solid and the director is up to the task. In this case Zach Cregger is both. 

"What did we learn?" asks J.K. Simmons in the Coen Brothers film Burn After Reading (2008)

an evocative illustration from Roald Dahl's The Witches, drawn by Quentin Blake

Then, perhaps thanks to sketch comedy roots, the film is also very funny, not unlike Barbarian. This mix of horror and jokes, both which fundamentally operate on systems of set-up and release, create the ultimate feeling of the film. The film vitally understands that comedy can operate not in opposition but in tandem with horror, and vice versa, a mixture capable of enhancing the overall experience, even if this idea is contrary to much of what we see in our post-modern tinged cinema. An excellent example of this prevailing comedic crutch could be seen in this year's Superman, a film I enjoyed, when Krypto tackles Lex Luthor mid-speech. When this occurs, a dramatic moment is upended by an "unexpected" infusion of levity. While in case of Superman I'd argue it works, Lex does not deserve his opportunity to speak and the dramatic stakes of the moment were satisfied by Superman's declaration moments before, this is indicative of a trend all too prevalent, which misunderstands the potential of humor. At best these upendings are "story-based" like in Superman, though at worst they have become a misguided default, as we see in the "meta" comedy of someone like Ryan Reynolds. All to often in the aftermath of the comedic appearance, there is simply nothing left at all, and the films die as the products they always were from their inception.

While at first glance it may seem like Weapons utilizes something like this as well, the genius of the film’s comedy is that it and the film's horror are both effortlessly weaved into the very fabric of the film. They both come from the same plots and images and general ideas in play. The ultimate payoff at the end is still frightening, even as it is also funny. The biggest laugh the film holds, which arrives as the film's climax, is not undercutting the scares but working as the natural conclusion of where the story has been guided. By the end of the film, the audience has been frightened and laughed a fair amount, resulting in something that must be close to what Nicole Kidman hoped for all of us. These are screams in their truest form, that being release.

So is Weapons elevated? Does Weapons have a message? Do its characters have weight? No, probably not, and while I am making a case for this kind of film, I want to make it clear, in what I suppose could be considered a statement of contradiction, that I don’t think “elevated horror” is really necessarily an issue overall, and I probably would have enjoyed another version of the film more in that space. Yes, there are beats here that work better than others, and the film is occasionally mean-spirited (a spirit of its genre and one I think it relatively earns), though by its ultimate conclusion, it was all to easy to revel in the release. So, in an effort to curb that previously mentioned critical tendency to grab hold of that double edged moral sword (and risking just over-intellectualizing what could just be a supremely enjoyable horror film), I submit today, with full license to refute myself in the future, that if maybe Weapons has little to say in its text, sometimes having nothing to say, nothing perhaps but rage, is in itself something to say; an expression of cultural feeling. A primal scream.

"What did I learn?” Perhaps nothing more than another reminder that the kids will not, and indeed cannot, be all right as long as we allow our society to continue, pardon another pun, running the way it does, which I guess is in itself a moral, which means maybe you can disregard everything I've written, and maybe the film is "elevated" after all. Perhaps that's part of the film's new ground. Either way, I definitely felt good when it was all over, and that’s worthwhile too, and in that spirit, one of contradiction, I feel little hesitation to declare Weapons the “feel good” hit of the summer. 

A still from the movie, Ms. Gandy (Julia Garner), the teacher of the missing class, wakes up from a nightmare, probably.

Weapons, likely still in theaters, was directed by Zach Cregger and stars Julia Garner, Josh Brolin, Benedict Wong, and several others.